


Reflection

by timehopper



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: It's been three months since Claude had last been able to hold Sylvain in his arms, and three months since Sylvain had mindlessly joked about getting a mirror. And that’s all it had been, really – a joke, something said in the heat of the moment. Sylvain probably doesn’t even remember what he’d said that night, and he surely hasn’t been replaying the moment in his mind over and over and over again.But Claude has.Claude installs a mirror in his room. He and Sylvain have some fun with it.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my good friend Ama, who requested Claudevain for Kinktober Day 29: Mirror Sex! I hope it shines through how much I loved this prompt - and if not, here's a fun fact: I planned this to be around 2k, but it ended up more than double. Ooops! 
> 
> Anyway I love claudevain. :3c 
> 
> Also, big thank you to [nishtabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel) for betaing this for me! It was such a huge help! <3

It’s so easy to rile Sylvain up like this. So easy to get him crying out and arching his back and rocking his hips, calling out for Claude and silently begging him to go faster, harder.

It’s almost laughable, really, that someone who’d had such a reputation for being a good lay would so easily become unraveled. And yet here he is, calling out for Claude, hands tangled in the sheets and legs firmly locked around his waist.

“You look so good like this, you know that? Spread out and open underneath me like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.” Claude smiles as he strokes Sylvain’s face with the back of his hand, knuckles trailing from cheekbone to chin. His skin is hot and flushed, warm to the touch. His eyes roll back in his head, turning to rest on Claude without actually seeing him. 

“Yeah…?” Sylvain asks weakly, like he doesn’t quite know what he’s saying, or even if Claude had spoken at all. He arches his back and rolls his hips, trying to pull Claude in deeper, deeper, deeper.

“Mhm.” Claude gives him what he wants, hiking Sylvain up so that he can better move between his legs. “So pretty. I can see why all those girls kept falling for you. But they never made you feel like this, did they?” 

He thrusts in sharply; Sylvain cries out. His legs tighten around Claude, and instinctively, he reaches up to loop his arms around Claude’s neck and cling to him as if his very life depended on it – but Claude settles him back down on the sheets with a hand at his neck and a smile on his face. 

“Not yet,” he whispers, smile growing when Sylvain whimpers in protest. “Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

Sylvain’s hands fall back down on the bed, and he gives Claude his best cheeky grin – a little less sharp than usual, a little more affectionate. He’s beautiful like this, sincere and open and so lost in pleasure he can hardly even think to fake a smile, let alone do it. Even this paltry attempt breaks as soon as Claude shifts inside him, with Sylvain’s eyes rolling back in his head and his lips parting on a short, breathy moan.

Claude reaches for him, threading fingers through the hair at the back of his head and pulling tight. Sylvain’s gaze snaps back to him, blissfully unfocused.

“Gods, I wish you could see yourself right now,” he says, because Sylvain is a sight to behold: stars in his eyes, kiss-bitten lips, a flush that paints him pink from the tips of his ears to the point of his chin. Sylvain’s smile could soothe the angriest of hearts.

“Oh?” Sylvain laughs, voice as hazy as his gaze, and turns his head into Claude's hand without breaking eye contact. “Mm… then maybe we should get a mirror.”

He laughs as Claude drags him up into a bruising kiss; moans as he's pushed back down against the bed; and screams, muffled against his lover's mouth, when Claude folds him in half and fucks him so hard he forgets how to speak.

* * *

Three months go by before Sylvain returns to Almyra – three long months of cold beds and lonely nights spent reading and re-reading letters from Gautier, and later Sreng.

It's been three months since Claude had last been able to hold Sylvain in his arms, and three months since Sylvain had mindlessly joked about getting a mirror. And that’s all it had been, really – a joke, something said in the heat of the moment. Sylvain probably doesn’t even remember what he’d said that night, and he surely hasn’t been replaying the moment in his mind over and over and over again.

But Claude has.

He thinks about it constantly – in private, a hand wrapped around his cock as he thinks of Sylvain pressed up against a mirror, trying desperately to catch his eye in the reflection; in public, during feasts, when he misses Sylvain's presence by his side and salacious whispers in his ear the most; in his court, where the walls are lined with mirrors so that assassins can better be spotted, but would be better put to use to show Sylvain his place.

When he has to excuse himself from court for the fourth time in as many days, Claude decides that something must be done about this. And, when the final letter comes, announcing Sylvain's imminent return to Almyra, he puts his plan into action.

* * *

He greets Sylvain at the palace gates, offering him a hand to help him off his horse before pulling him into an embrace most unbecoming of a king. Sylvain doesn't seem to mind, though, the little _“Miss me?”_ he whispers in Claude's ear dripping with insinuation.

“So much,” Claude tells him, turning to catch his lips in a kiss. “I may have had to get creative to make up for you not being here.”

“Oh?” Sylvain raises a brow, his smile turning sultry. “I hope that means you're gonna tell me what you've been up to. Your letters were a little sparse on the details...”

Claude leans up, close enough they could kiss again. “You'll just have to come to my room to find out, won't you?”

* * *

It takes them longer than it should to get to the king's chambers. For every few steps they took, Sylvain would sweep Claude up into a kiss; for every corner they turned, Claude would drag Sylvain into a corner to slam him up against the wall. But when they finally arrive and Sylvain sees the grand mirror set at the foot of Claude's bed, his jaw drops.

“So this is what you meant when you said you had to get creative,” he says. Claude watches as his expression shifts from bewildered to gleeful, lips curling almost ferally over his teeth. When he turns to face Claude properly, his pupils are blown so wide and dark they almost blot out the pretty golden-brown of his irises. “You dirty little _slut._ ”

He doesn't give Claude a chance to say anything. Sylvain is on him in a moment, tearing at Claude's clothes and kissing him like he wants to devour him whole. It leaves Claude breathless and reeling, mind racing to catch up when Sylvain finally lets him go so he can take his own clothes off.

Normally, when Sylvain strips, he's careful to fold each piece of clothing and set it down carefully, either by draping it over something or setting it on a solid surface. Today, he lets his cloak fall to the floor unceremoniously, throws his shirt and vest to the ground, and kicks off his boots and pants without caring where they land. Claude watches all this, wondering what's happened to his Sylvain, but he gets his answer when he's taken by the shoulders and pushed backwards until his back collides with the surface of the mirror. He gasps at the cold of it, jolting reflexively. “Sylvain—”

“I can't believe you,” Sylvain interrupts, so close that Claude can feel his breath against his cheek. “Is this about what I said before?”

“So you do remember,” Claude says, a smile of his own spreading over his face.

“Of course. How could I forget? I thought about it for weeks after.” He reaches down between Claude's legs to take his rapidly hardening cock in hand. “But I never thought you'd actually go and get a mirror installed. How long's it been here, huh?”

Claude's laughter dies in his throat, replaced by a drawn-out moan as Sylvain runs his thumb under the crown of his cock. “T-two days.”

“Only two?” Sylvain tightens his grip and tugs cruelly on Claude; Claude curls against him, brows knitting and eyes squeezing shut. “Are you trying to say you got this just for me?”

“Y-yeah—”

Sylvain laughs. “Liar.”

He pulls Claude away from the mirror, only to turn him around and push him back against it. It traps Claude's arm uncomfortably between his body and the glass, but Claude can't find it in himself to care – not when Sylvain is whispering in his ear and dragging his teeth along the shell of it. “You really expect me to believe that? You're so vain, I bet you jacked off in front of it the minute it was set up.”

Claude groans. He presses his cheek against the cool glass, letting it soothe his flaming skin. A mixture of light humiliation and burning arousal curl and flicker in the pit of his stomach. This is not how Claude had expected this to go – he’d figured he would be the one to pin Sylvain against the mirror and fuck him into an incoherent mess – but he can't object to this. It feels too good, too perfect – everything he’d missed from Sylvain’s absence.

Sylvain laughs, a puff of breath at his ear and the press of his chest against his back. “Can't even deny it,” he says.

And then he’s gone, leaving Claude cold and neglected and struggling to keep himself upright. He has to brace himself on the mirror's gilded edge, one hand curled around the embossed frame while he watches Sylvain’s reflection move to the bedside table.

He knows exactly what's coming next. Sure enough, Sylvain pulls the bottle out, its silver stopper gleaming in the light of the sunset that filters through the windows. He looks radiant in the light, hair an even deeper shade of red in it and skin positively glowing.

For a moment, Claude wonders if the mirror has been tampered with, or if Sylvain really does look just that good.

It's the latter, he decides, as Sylvain turns his head and pulls him in for a kiss. Claude only gets a brief glimpse of him, but that's all he needs – the feel of Sylvain's lips against his quickly drives all other thoughts from his mind, and an oil-slick finger prodding at his hole reminds him of how badly he wants – no, _needs_ – Sylvain inside him _now_.

He gets his wish when the first finger penetrates him, and then the second a moment after.

“Huh,” Sylvain says, a sound of surprise that comes out more amused than anything else. “Looks like somebody was getting ready for me.”

This time, it's Claude's turn to laugh, a breathy huff escaping his chest as he peers at Sylvain over his shoulder. “Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “You know that sometimes I like – ah!”

Sylvain adds another finger. He spreads them open inside Claude, too impatient to take his time and work him open properly. It's relieving, really, that Sylvain seems to want this just as much as Claude does – or perhaps even more.

He's good at hiding his impatience, but not that good.

“It's not flattery if it's true.” Sylvain smiles, and because Claude only sees the reflection of it, the cruel twist to it nearly goes unmissed. “Unless... Ah, I get it. You just couldn't resist watching yourself in the mirror, could you? Since you couldn't have me, you figured you'd take the next best thing and fuck yourself on your fingers, right?”

He leans in close – so close that Claude would be unable to see him if he hadn't been looking in a mirror. Sylvain turns his head to tug Claude's ear between his teeth, watching his reaction in the mirror all the while. Not that he needs to – Claude is pretty sure that Sylvain's grin is less because he _sees_ how much Claude likes that than how he feels it, deep as his fingers are and pressed up as close as he is.

“Mm, there, that's more like it,” he growls. “Show me how bad you want it.”

And Claude does, rocking back on Sylvain's fingers just as eagerly as if he were riding his cock. He throws his head far back enough that Sylvain can sink his teeth into his neck, and he watches himself as his face flushes and darkens and his cock twitches between his legs.

It's fascinating, watching himself like this. Better than Claude had imagined – and he _had_ imagined himself like this, nearly as much as he had Sylvain. The mirror has only been in his room for two days, but those two days have been difficult enough. It would have been so easy to give into the temptation to watch himself in the mirror as he brought himself off, but that was precisely why he had waited so long to get it in the first place: he hadn’t wanted to ruin himself for Sylvain. If they were going to experience this, Claude wanted them to do it together.

So far, it's been worth the wait. Claude can't deny that he looks good (even though he still thinks Sylvain would look even better, flushed and panting as he’s spread open and used), and with the way Sylvain keeps glancing at his own reflection, he has the sneaking suspicion the feeling is mutual.

He ignores that for now, though, instead focusing on himself. Claude watches himself rock back against Sylvain’s hand, cock jumping as Sylvain hits his prostate.

Claude groans; he has to fight to keep his eyes open and see how his body reacts. In the end, though, he ends up having to look away anyway, gaze pulled from his reflection when Sylvain roughly withdraws his fingers and retreats. He leaves Claude there, empty and wanting, with nothing more than a little red mark at the base of his neck. It’s nothing a high neckline won't cover, but that's not the point. The point is that Sylvain has marked him, given him something else to admire in his reflection.

For a moment, that’s all Claude does. He touches the mark, fingertips ghosting over it. It’s still wet with saliva from where Sylvain had lovingly run his tongue over it, but Claude doesn’t even need to feel it to know that. He can see it just fine, and that realization sends another shiver through his body.

Or maybe it’s just the cold. He no longer has Sylvain’s extra body heat pressed up against him, after all.

Claude looks over his reflection’s shoulder to watch Sylvain. He’s back at the bedside table, glass bottle in hand and spreading a generous amount of oil over his full, hard cock. He takes his sweet time with it, careful to make sure every inch of it is slicked up. He runs his fingers along the underside, swipes over the crown, grips and squeezes the base – he’s putting on a show, just because he wants to be a jerk about this. Claude can’t fathom why, other than to get him even more worked up and desperate – and, damn him, it’s working. But annoying as it is, a burst of affection still blooms in Claude's chest, because that’s the exact kind of thing he would do in this situation, too.

And so he does, stretching in front of the mirror and wrapping a hand around himself. Sylvain may be the one running the show, but that doesn’t mean Claude can’t perform.

“You’re such a tease,” he says, stroking himself just as slowly as Sylvain at first, then faster, more impatiently. He has a message to get across, after all. “Come on, don't make me do all the work myself.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Sylvain scoffs, but he does as he's asked and returns to Claude anyway, stopping behind him and pressing his slicked-up cock to his entrance. A crooked smile plays about his lips as he reaches down and lifts Claude’s hand away from himself.

“Hands against the frame,” he commands, leaning forward to murmur against Claude’s ear. Sylvain kisses a line down Claude’s jaw as he obeys, breath tickling his skin. “And stay nice and tight for me, will you?”

He pushes in, one swift motion that sheathes him inside Claude completely. Claude’s back arches and he pushes back against Sylvain instinctively even as he bottoms out, neck craned back so Sylvain can kiss it.

“Fuck. Look at you,” Sylvain breathes, turning his head so he can see them both in the mirror. Claude follows his gaze, and if he hadn’t been breathless before, he is now: like this, he has a full view of Sylvain’s face, eyes half-lidded and fogged with lust, a strained smile on his face, corners of his lips twitching as he struggles to adjust to how tight Claude is around him. Claude himself isn’t much better: he can see the way his chest heaves and his muscles tighten, how cloudy and unfocused his own gaze is. It all feels so good that he can’t even force a smile, caught as he is between Sylvain and the mirror: a strong body at his back, an arm curling around his front to squeeze his pec, and cool, smooth glass at his front, reminding him of how wonderfully, blissfully trapped he is.

Claude has never liked feeling trapped before. Now, like this, he thinks he doesn’t mind.

He forces himself to move, shifting against Sylvain and pulling a moan from between his lips. “Taking your time, aren’t you?” he says. “You’d think you’d never gotten a good look at yourself before.”

“Can’t help it.” Sylvain straightens up, hands moving to grab at Claude’s hips. “I’m a handsome man.”

He moves, then, drawing back and thrusting in sharply. Claude makes a noise somewhere between a choke and a whimper – something he will deny later, if given the chance – and curls his fingers tighter around the mirror’s frame. He braces himself against it, knowing that was just a warning, a taste of what’s to come. He gets the rest of it soon after, when Sylvain starts moving in and out of him in eager, impatient thrusts.

The whole time, Claude watches him. He looks over his reflection’s shoulder, eyes fixed on Sylvain’s, drinking in every little change in expression: the way his brows twitch as he adjusts his pace; how he bites his lip when he finds a good angle; how his tongue flicks at the corner of his mouth when he catches himself losing control. He can see the affection painted upon every inch of Sylvain’s face, the desire written in every line of his body. He’d missed Claude, that much is clear, and it’s a kind of longing that had gone beyond just sex. Sylvain could have gotten that from anyone – but this is something he can only get from Claude.

He shifts behind Claude, a hand sliding down to clutch at his thigh. Sylvain’s nails dig into Claude’s skin, even blunt as they are. The sudden pain is welcome, though, especially since it precedes Sylvain hiking Claude’s leg back, just a bit, and forcing a change in angle. Now he hits Claude even deeper, ramming into his prostate with every thrust. Claude cries out, adding his voice to the cacophonic symphony of Sylvain’s laboured breathing, his low, stuttered grunts, and the obscene slapping of skin as their bodies meet, over and over again.

Claude’s head falls forward to hang between his shoulders. His arms and legs tremble with the effort of holding himself up. All he wants right now is to collapse into Sylvain, to let Sylvain maneuver him however much he wants. To let Sylvain _use_ him, take the pleasure he’d so clearly missed, and give Claude that same pleasure in return.

But Sylvain won’t let him. He takes Claude by the chin, forcing his head back up so he can watch himself in the mirror. “You wanted this,” he hisses, making eye contact with Claude through his reflection. “The least you could do is make use of it.” 

Sylvain wrenches Claude’s from the mirror’s frame, pulling him back so he’s standing nearly upright. He holds Claude fast against his chest with an arm around his middle, the other still gripping his chin tight and forcing him to face himself in the mirror. “You gonna watch, Claude?” he asks. “You gonna watch yourself come?” 

Claude grits his teeth. He nods, a shallow little jerk of the head (Sylvain is still holding him in place, after all), and fucks himself back on Sylvain’s cock. He meets every thrust with one of his own and watches as his own cock jerks and twitches, precum drooling from its tip. Between his legs, he can just barely make out the sight of Sylvain moving in and out of him, sliding out only to disappear back inside a fraction of a second later –

He comes like that, eyes fixed on where their bodies meet. His mouth falls open on a cry, and he fights to keep watching as his cock spends itself, thick ropes of come splashing against the mirror and staining its surface.

He feels Sylvain’s smile against his cheek before he sees it. When Claude regains the wherewithal to look, he meets Sylvain’s eye in his reflection. There’s a devious glint in it, one that tells Claude that this is far from over.

Good.

You feel better now that you got what you wanted?” Sylvain asks, hiding his glass-cutting smirk by pressing a kiss to Claude’s temple. He’s stopped moving, and belatedly, Claude realizes that there’s no sign of Sylvain having finished. No come leaking from him, nothing staining his skin or trickling between his thighs.

Sylvain is still hard inside him.

He lets go of Claude’s chin to allow him to speak. Claude flexes his jaw, sore from how tightly Sylvain had held it. “Yeah,” he says, still a little dazed. “I do.”

“Hm.” There’s something in Sylvain’s tone, dismissive and affectionate at once. He pulls out of Claude, and Claude almost complains, but before he gets the chance, Sylvain just says, “No you don’t.”

Without warning, he pulls Claude backwards and sweeps him off feet. Sylvain carries him to the bed and throws him onto it, climbing atop the sheets after him and forcefully maneuvering Claude so he’s on his knees and facing the mirror once again.

“Sylvain—”

He’s cut off by a gasp as Sylvain shoves back inside. Claude’s eyes go wide and roll back in his head. He’s overwhelmed by pleasure as Sylvain starts to fuck his overstimulated hole, and is only brought back to the moment by a hand tangling in his hair and forcing him to look in the mirror.

“Come on, Your Majesty,” Sylvain hisses through his teeth. “You can do one more.”

Sylvain shoves his head down. Claude cries out, fists clenching in the sheets; he turns his head, trying to look back in the mirror, just like he knows Sylvain wants – just like _he_ wants –

“Heh. Just can’t resist, can you? Not that I blame you.” Sylvain rises up on his haunches, gripping Claude by the hip with the hand not in his hair, so Claude can get a better view of Sylvain’s cock pumping in and out of him. “You look so fucking good like this, Claude. All nice and full and begging for it. Don’t you agree?”

He lets up a little, hand loosening in Claude’s hair to signal that he wants – no, expects – an answer, so Claude gives it to him: “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain echoes. He laughs and looks back into the mirror, eyes flitting from his own and down to Claude’s. “Mm. I know you said before that you wanted to show me what I looked like stuffed full of your dick…” He lifts his hand away from Claude’s head to slide it around his front instead. He wraps his fingers around Claude’s cock, and Claude is surprised to find that he’s already hard again. Sylvain, however, seems far less surprised – and far more pleased. “But I think I like it better this way. You take it so much better than I ever could.”

Claude cries out. The angle Sylvain’s holding him at means he can’t quite see himself come, but he certainly feels it; he comes hard, but almost dry. It’s too soon after his last orgasm for his body to give much more than that, but it seems to satisfy Sylvain enough all the same, because a moment later his rhythm falters and he releases inside Claude, arms shaking and cock twitching as it pumps him full of come.

Sylvain holds himself there for a while, head hanging down and bangs obscuring his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. Claude waits patiently, wishing he could see Sylvain’s eyes in his reflection. He settles for his own instead, and almost laughs when he realizes how dark they are, how little green is left in the irises for how his blown-out pupils obscure them.

He blinks, slowly, and tries to lift himself to his knees. Sylvain looks up at the movement, dazed, but he gets the message without Claude saying or doing anything more than raising a brow. He pulls out slowly and settles back down on his knees, relaxed and happy to receive Claude when he throws himself at him.

They kiss, long and sweet and languid to make up for all the time they’d lost in the last three months. There’s no urgency in it this time, just affection: when their tongues meet, it’s not to desperately remember how Sylvain tastes or to show him how much Claude had missed him. It’s just falling back into old patterns, reasserting their love for one another, and enjoying how it feels to finally be together again.

They end up cuddled together beneath the sheets, legs tangled and foreheads pressed together. Their fingers intertwine, and Claude kisses each of Sylvain’s knuckles in turn, grinning when Sylvain begins to laugh.

“You know,” Claude says, “I didn’t actually watch myself get off in the mirror before you got here.”

“I know.” Sylvain reaches for Claude's hair to push a lock of it out of his eyes and smiles at him, wide toothy and playful. “I didn't, either.”

It takes a moment for Claude to parse that, tired as he is after coming twice, but when he does, he sits up, eyes widening with glee. “Don't tell me...”

“Yup.” Sylvain turns onto his back, stretching his arms up before folding them behind his head. “I had a full-length mirror installed in my room, too. I had mine set into the wall, though.”

“And you called me vain.” Claude leans down to press their lips together, smiling as Sylvain swipes a tongue across his lips. “Guess we're both a little guilty of that, huh?”

Sylvain winks. “There are worse things to be guilty of.”

He lifts his hands and reaches for Claude. Claude leans in to let Sylvain wrap his arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. He's right: vanity is far from the worst thing to be guilty of, and he's more than happy to share that particular quality with Sylvain.

Especially since they’ve now got not one, but _two_ mirrors to indulge with.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and think you might like to see more, have a chat, or would like to get to know me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r).
> 
> And if you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1355219789560471554). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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